


Sickness

by thegirlwhoknits



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Deaton is a shady fuck, M/M, Magical Illness, business as usual around here, not stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/pseuds/thegirlwhoknits
Summary: Someone has to save Stiles, and it's not going to be Peter.





	Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> For Steter Bingo 2018  
> Dark/Angst Board  
> "Sickness"

Peter strokes Stiles’ hair back from his forehead with one hand while he listens to the diagnosis, using his other hand to write. The small notebook he’s scribbling in is already three-quarters full of notes on his mate’s symptoms, eating and sleeping habits, and the results of the tests they’ve already tried.  Stiles’ head begins to shake where he rests it on the desk. Peter hopes it’s nerves and not another micro-seizure.

~

It’s not fronto-temporal dementia. That was the first thing they’d ruled out. The symptoms don’t match up, anyway. They’re mostly physical, or at least they start that way: nausea, seizures, blinding headaches. The memory loss and aphasia come later.

Stiles is convinced it’s brain cancer. He brought stacks of research with him to the neurologist, but their scans came up empty. Just like every one of the dozens of tests that followed.

~

So here they are, listening to Deaton drone on about the unpredictability of magic and how certain types can eat the user alive if they go wrong.

“So it’s like…magical cancer?” Stiles asks, lifting his head off the table. His eyes stare at the vet, flat and lifeless.

“In a manner of speaking,” Deaton says. He’s clearly unwilling to be pinned down to such a simple explanation. “The nogitsune left a magical residue behind, and it’s reacting badly with Stiles’ inherent spark. It needs to be cleansed.”

“So there is a cure?” Peter presses impatiently.

Deaton presses his lips together. He seems reluctant to answer, and Peter is about half a second from lunging over the table and pressing his claws to the man’s throat. Finally he says, “Yes, but it’s not going to be easy to get.”

~

Stiles knows his mate will do anything to save his life, but he’s scared and in pain, and he’s selfish. Getting the cure will be dangerous, and he saw the little glint of satisfaction in Deaton’s eyes when he handed Peter a token to give to the fae who ‘owes him a favor.’

Stiles has never trusted Deaton.

Scott has never trusted Peter, and that combined with his hero complex means he’s easily convinced to undertake the mission himself. Stiles has to agree to let the rest of the pack take shifts so he’s not left alone and ‘vulnerable’ with Peter. _His own fucking mate._

He doesn’t feel guilty when he slips the token into Scott’s hand, or when Peter yells at him for it later.

~

Erica and Peter are the only people Stiles allows to care for him. It’s too distressing for the sheriff, and the rest of the pack regard him with a mixture of pity and horror when he convulses or vomits up blood. In the beginning, Scott was That Guy, recommending yoga and essential oils and cutting out caffeine until Erica punched him in his throat chakra to shut him up.

But Erika knows what it feels like to peel yourself off the floor, feeling broken and beaten, while a circle of eyes stares at you. And Peter has had his unresponsive body bathed and manipulated by callous, uncaring hands. They know what it’s like, and they’ll do better than that for their packmate.

Peter, for one, is in awe of Stiles’ strength. He breaks down sometimes, of course: rages and cries and sobs with despair and pain. But after he’s finished shaking in Peter’s arms or staring blankly at the wall for an afternoon, he gathers himself and keeps going.

~

It’s been three days since Scott left, and Peter is worried. He helps Stiles to the bathroom whenever he’s conscious, but those times are getting further and further between. Soon, Melissa says, they’ll have to hook him up to a catheter.

The aphasia has gotten worse; Stiles can barely communicate. His mind is still sharp, which makes him all the more frustrated. It’s painful to watch. But Peter can feel the love still flowing through their bond, and makes a point to send it back in soothing waves.

If only that useless True Alpha would hurry up.

~

The next day, Stiles is sleeping fitfully when his breathing suddenly evens out. He doesn’t wake, but the dull throb of pain that Peter’s been pulling out of him continuously _stops._

At the same time, Derek stiffens in his seat by the door, then throws his head back and _howls_ with anguish and rage. When he lowers his head again, his eyes blaze red.

~

Derek forces Deaton to admit it was all a trap, before he rips the vet’s throat out with his teeth. The wet gurgling is music to Peter’s ears.


End file.
